Bored
by estelgreenleaf
Summary: Sherlock and John have a fight and John storms out. But what will happen to Sherlock? Rating may go up, may become slash.


**Don't own Sherlock.**

**A/N: **I swear, I will update my other stories soon; I've just been really busy lately.

**Bored**

Sherlock was bored. His mind was becoming stagnant from the sheer boredom of the situation he was in. He looked around at the chaos of the sitting room. It had been a simple experiment to see how a normal person would react at coming home to an unexpected mess. John was not happy. In fact, he had taken Sherlock's nicotine patches with him to work and told the detective he would not return them until their flat was clean. Of course, Sherlock could always go down to the corner store and get more, but that would require effort. He laid on the couch until John came home for lunch. The doctor set a shopping bag with milk in it down on the counter.

"I cannot believe you!" he said angrily, his voice getting louder, "I told you to clean up!"

"Boring," Sherlock replied.

John did a double take, "Boring? Boring? Sherlock Holmes, you are an adult, not a bloody child and I am not treating you like one any longer! Just because you can do a clever little parlor trick doesn't mean you are Mr. High and Mighty! All you ever do is insult people and act like you're above everyone. Well, here's a news flash, you're just as human as the rest of us!"

"John," Sherlock started, but John cut him off by leaving and slamming the door.

The detective went to get up, but his phone buzzed. It was Lestrade, needing him at a crime scene. He texted John.

_Lestrade needs us at a crime scene.  
SH_

_He needs you._

_Yes. So, are you coming?  
SH_

_Are you out of your fucking mind?_

_No.  
SH_

John declined to respond and Sherlock left for the scene.

"Oi, freak, where's your husband?" Sally asked.

"He is indisposed." Sherlock replied, ignoring both jabs.

Lestrade showed him the body, which was truly a bloody mess. He told the detective all they knew.

"27 year old Elton Michaels, left work at two, last person he talked to was his wife over his mobile. Next thing that happened was someone found him here."

"Well, that's quite a lot to go on, isn't it?" Sherlock said sarcastically.

He looked around the crime scene at all the people. They were all doing their jobs, except one. He didn't belong to the police force, did he? The man was in suit trousers, a collared shirt, and a leather jacket. He was talking frantically to someone on the phone. Sherlock started over towards him and the man's eyes widened in a way that would have been comical if the situation wasn't so serious. Once he within fifteen feet, the man bolted, dropping his phone. Sherlock picked it up and began chasing after him, going through the mobile as he ran. The man had been talking to someone at a company called Wirrex. He followed the man until they reaches a footbridge over the Thames. The man turned and pulled out a Browning High Power Mk. III. Sherlock stopped about thirty feet from the man and stared at him. The man shot the gun three times. The first two rounds flew off into the distance, but Sherlock felt a searing pain in his shoulder; the bullet had struck him there. The man attempted to shoot him again, but the clip was out of ammo. While the man was busy trying to reload, Sherlock hurried over and punched the man in the jaw. He may have been injured, but he was determined to capture the criminal, no matter what the cost. The man fell backward, but held onto Sherlock's lapels, taking the detective with him as they tumbled into the Thames. They hit the water and Sherlock filed away the pain that came with it. He'd save it for a future case. The other man was out cold and Sherlock began the long, difficult task that was getting him to shore. They finally reached the bank and Sherlocck threw the other man onto it. He saw Lestrade and his officers come running. The Detective Inspector took in the sight of the sopping, bloody, shivering man in front of him and knew they'd have to get him to a hospital, and soon.

"Terrance Hart," Sherlock said, gesturing to the unconscious man, "project manager at Wirrex. Murdered the victim because of a dispute over of his wife."

And with that, the detective fainted.


End file.
